


Five Times Sherlock Made Someone Beg & One Time Someone Made Sherlock Beg...Twice

by WhatLocked



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 5+1, Anal Sex, Begging, Johns POV, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 11:26:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5373629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatLocked/pseuds/WhatLocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John watches Sherlock deny the people around him, just to see them beg.  After a while he decides that this just isn’t on and that it was about time someone turned the tables on the consulting detective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Sherlock Made Someone Beg & One Time Someone Made Sherlock Beg...Twice

~~~~~~~~~~

** -5 * Lestrade  **

John sat on the couch, his head turning from left to right as he watched the two men before him argue. Well, one was arguing. The other was just flippantly saying “ _No_ ” and “ _Not my problem_ ” and “ _Well, maybe you should employ more competent staff_.”

This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, although, it did usually happened over the phone, usually ending in John being dragged in to try and convince the insufferable man on John’s right to please, please, _please_ come in and help on the case. John never knew why. It wasn’t like he had a super power that instantly made Sherlock Holmes do whatever he asked, although, if he could have a super power, that would be a very handy one to have indeed.

“What exactly is it that you don’t get about this case, Graham” Sherlock sighed impatiently.

Greg’s return sigh was one more of exasperation. “It’s Greg, and what I don’t get is who killed him…or the two before him.”

Sherlock sent Lestrade a look that questioned the sanity of Greg’s statement. “Why have you changed your name?” he asked.

John bit his lip to hold back the grin as Greg’s mouth manoeuvred around the beginning of a curse, John himself often used around Sherlock, before snapping shut again, clearly deciding that his name wasn’t an argument worth his time or effort at the moment.

“Please, Sherlock. We are completely stumped. What little evidence that has been found at the crime scene has been completely unhelpful and the chief is breathing down my neck, wanting this cleared up yesterday.”

“Forensics?”

“Anderson.”

A derisive huff left the consulting detectives lips, but nothing was said. Sherlock just stared into the empty fireplace, a distant look in his eyes and a slight frown on his brow. It was a frown that could indicate thinking or be the beginnings of a sulk. John had seen that look often enough to know that there was no telling what way it was going to go until it was gone, and both options could eventuate in a matter of minutes or hours. They were now in the middle of a tedious waiting game.

“So far the only good thing about this case has been the over excited dogs, that for some reason keep attaching themselves to Donovan’s leg” Greg told John with a wry smile, also recognising Sherlocks mood for what it was.

John didn’t hold back the grin that tugged at his lips. “Anderson must have been jealous.”

A small chuckle left Greg’s mouth at that, before the two of them noticed that Sherlock was looking to Greg, an odd expression on his face that John couldn’t quite read.

“ _Please_ , Sherlock. I am really out of options” Greg finally pleaded, probably also not understanding the look on Sherlock’s face.

With a roll of his eyes and a long suffering sigh Sherlock uncrossed his legs and leant towards Greg. “The person you are looking for is someone who is familiar with the each of the victims, someone who is friendly enough not to alert the dogs. They also have access to pentobarbitone, so I would look towards their vet. These weren’t murders, they were mercy killings.”

“Mercy killings?” Greg questioned as Sherlock pulled his phone out of his pocket and started tapping away at the screen.

“Yes, each victim was suffering from a terminal illness. I daresay their dogs were therapy pets, so if the vet doesn’t turn out anything look at the pet therapy counsellor assigned to each victim. I’m sure you’ll find it to be the same person” he murmured as he scrolled through something on his phone. “Try Weston’s Veterinary Services” he told Greg holding his phone out to the older man. “They offer the standard veterinary services, pet adoption, pet boarding and therapy dogs for the disabled, injured or ill. Actually, forget the vet all together. It was the counsellor.”

“Hang on” Greg said looking up from the phone. “How did you know that they were all terminally ill? That fact hasn’t been released yet.”

Sherlock plucked his phone out of Lestrades hand and settled comfortably back in his chair, crossing one leg lazily over the other one again.

“I read their autopsy report” he told Greg in a tone that screamed _Obviously_. “The same way I knew they had been injected with pentobarbitone.”

“Do I want to know how you got the autopsy reports?” Greg asked resignedly.

Sherlock just looked at Greg, one eyebrow cocked as if to say, ‘ _are we really having this conversation, again_!.

“Molly” John muttered under his breath. He had walked into the morgue two days ago to find Molly all flustered and Sherlock looking rather pleased with himself. When he had enquired about it Sherlock had given some flippant answer and strolled out of the room with a smug, _quite-well-pleased-with-himself,_ gait. Molly had just given her usual apologetic smile and scurried away with a small “See you later, John.”

John was pulled out of his mini flashback by Greg practically growling at Sherlock. “So, you mean to tell me that you have known this information for the past 48 hours and you didn’t seem fit to tell me about it.”

With a frustrated frown directed at Lestrade Sherlock uncrossed his legs again and leant forward, again, but this time his body wasn’t loose and relaxed. His shoulders were squared and spine ramrod straight. He was preparing for battle.

“I didn’t make the connection until you mentioned the dogs, just a few moments ago” he spat. “And, had you called me in before now, I would have made the connection straight away.”

John almost laughed at that one. He would have determined the case boring as soon as Greg had mentioned it. John had been following the story in the papers, even if it hadn’t been major news. Over the past three weeks, two elderly people had been found dead in their houses, no sign of a break in and no obvious cause of death. Both had been treated as suspicious. Apparently, this morning, a third had been found.

John had read the articles out to the detective over breakfast but all he had received in return was an unenthusiastic grunt, both times.

Apparently they hadn’t been as boring as he had made them out to be and it suddenly dawned on John that Sherlock’s disinterest had actually been a sulk at the fact that he hadn’t been called in on the case.

“You do know that it is not first instinct to call you whenever we get a murder. We are actually capable of solving them without you” Greg snapped.

“Apparently not” Snapped Sherlock in return.

John let out a frustrated sigh. “Alright” he interjected as Greg went to open his mouth with a comeback. “Greg, you need to look into the dog therapy person, and Sherlock, you need to stop…I don’t know…showing off….”

Sherlock turned his head and glared at John, opening his mouth to protest. Again, John got in first.

“Yes, you do. You do it all the bloody time.”

At this Sherlock sunk back into his chair, arms crossed over his chest, glare directed back into the fire place. John couldn’t resent the sulk too much. It would mean silence from anywhere between ten minutes to two hours. He would take what he could get.

Ignoring the sulking detective to the right of him, John stood up to the less sulky detective to the left of him.

“Thanks for that” Greg muttered as he turned to the door. John wasn’t sure if he was thanking John for interjecting or thanking John on Sherlocks behalf for solving the case. Either way John just shrugged it off and told him not to worry about it.

“Pub tomorrow night?” he asked as they walked down the stairs.

“Chelsea playing?” Lestrade asked hopefully, opening the front door, referring to the match that would be showing on the small TV at their usual watering hole.

“Unfortunately, yes” John replied with a grin. That was a constant form of friendly fire between the two of them.

“Six o’clock” Greg responded.

“Six o’clock” John confirmed and the two of them parted ways, Lestrade heading towards his car and John heading up to one unhappy detective.

~o~

 **-4 * The** **Client**

The client arrived at 2:30 in the morning, frantically banging on the door loud enough that it woke John up. By the time he had made it down to the front door Mrs Hudson was already at the there trying to placate the rather irate man. Of course, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.

“It is imperative that I see Mr Holmes, straight away” the man, overweight, balding, gruffed at their elderly landlady.

Quietly John placed a hand on her shoulder and directed her back to her flat. “I’ve got this one Mrs H” he murmured, fully awake now due to a possible threat being in their hallway.

“If you’re sure” she said back and John smiled down at her, reassuringly and with a tired smile back she left the two men to their own devices.

“Can I help you, sir?” John asked, once his landlady was safely behind her closed door.

“Are you Mr Holmes?” the man demanded to know. Now John wasn’t one to judge people straight away but he was pretty sure, after hearing only thirteen words from the man before him,  John would safely bet that the guy was a rude, arrogant, tosser - and not in the style that the Holmes brothers tended to be rude, arrogant tossers.

“No. I am his partner, Dr John Watson” John informed the man, not offering a hand to shake, not that the thought the man would take up the offer anyway.

“Well, I need to see Mr Holmes, straight away.”

“Mmm, yes, so I heard. You are aware that it is two thirty in the morning” John queried, looking out for any (further) signs of mental instability.

The mans pig face only frowned harder. “Yes, I am able to tell the time, Doctor Watson.”

“But unaware that it is really not socially acceptable to come pounding on someones, who you have never met before, door at the early hours of the morning.” John never usually treated their potential clients with such disdain, that was usually Sherlocks job, but when one comes down stairs at two thirty in the morning to find a random stranger practically yelling at their seventy two year old landlady, one tends to get a bit prickly.

“Is Mr Holmes home or not?” The man before him bellowed, apparently ignoring Johns previous statement and not caring that people were actually trying to sleep, including Sherlock, who had only fallen asleep three hours ago after being up for five days straight. John was not prepared to wake him up yet for anything that wasn’t life or death situation and John was pretty sure that this man was not in a life or death situation.

“He is” John told the man, “but he is asleep. You can either leave me your details and I will get him to contact you or you can come back tomorrow, maybe when the sun is up and people have had time to at least have a cup of coffee.”

“Listen” the man spat, thrusting his pointed finger in John’s face. “If I wanted to deal with the help I would have rung my maid, now I insist….”

“No” John growled, Captain Watson making an appearance in not only his voice, but also in his stance “ _I_ insist that you take whatever problem it is that you have out of my house and either come back at a decent hour or find someone else to sort it out for you.”

The man’s pointed finger dropped from in front of John’s face and curled up into a fist at his side. “I don’t know wh….” he started, voice raised, but was quickly cut off.

“For god sake, what is this infernal racket” came a sleep slurred, but clearly irritated voice from above them. John looked up and behind to see a sleep mussed Sherlock wrapping his blue dressing gown tightly around his body as he tromped down the stairs like a disgruntled five year old, the grumpy look on his face matching his descent.

John sighed. The detective was up now, he wouldn’t go back to bed, which meant foul moods and sulks until he decided that his _transport_ did actually need adequate rest again.

“Mr Holmes” the man said, trying to step past John, but John wasn’t moving.

“One of them, yes” Sherlock mumbled looking the man up and down with sleep encrusted eyes.

“I need your help” the man gruffed, his tone more demanding rather than asking, the perfect way to get Sherlock to do the exact opposite of what you want.

“Hmm, so I gathered.”

“I have been broken into” the man informed him haughtily as if he couldn’t believe that someone would have the gall to rob _him_.

“Shouldn’t this be a job for the police?” Sherlock sighed impatiently, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.  That just proved how tired he was if he was referring someone to the police.

There was a moments silence where the man looked from Sherlock to John and then back to Sherlock. "The, um, the contents that were stolen are of a…personal nature. I would appreciate if this could be kept quiet” he said, his tone much quieter but no less arrogant as he glared at John.

“John will not be leaving” Sherlock assured the man, sounding just as, if not more, arrogant. “He is my partner, whatever you say to me will only be repeated back to him. You don’t like it, sort the problem out yourself” and with that he turned to walk back up the stairs.

“Mr Holmes, please. I really do need your help, and it is crucial that these items are recovered as soon as possible” he pleaded, all arrogance leaving his voice, taken over by sheer desperation.

Sherlock stopped on the second stair and turned around to face the potential client. He narrowed his gaze as he studied the man before them. “You have two minutes” he finally said.

The man gaped before spluttering out “wh….waht?’

“A minute fifty five” Sherlock replied, sounding bored.

Again,the man’s mouth opened and shut like a dying fish’s might.

“I suggest you hurry up and explain your predicament before he goes back upstairs” John informed him in an over exaggerated whisper.

“A minute forty five” Sherlock counted down, not once looking away from the man.

Finally the man seemed to realise what was happening and his mouth quickly started working. “Some time between nine o’clock yesterday morning and one o’clock this morning someone located a secret safe I have in my home office, cracked the code and removed certain contents from that safe before putting everything back the way it was. The contents that were removed from my safe are of a highly personal and compromising nature and I need them returned, immediately, with as much discretion as possible.”

There was silence as Sherlock continued to glare at the man. Finally he spoke. “Fifty five seconds.”

The mans face suddenly turned bright red and John was sure steam was about to come out of his ears. ‘What do you mean. I just told you all there was” he growled through clenched teeth.

“I think he wants details of the contents” John supplied helpfully, trying not to find the mans predicament amusing.

There was silence again as the man continued to glare at Sherlock. “Forty…”

“Fine” the man yelled. “They were several photos of me with different young men in positions and acts of an intimate nature.”

Again, silence as Sherlock considered the information he had just been given.

“Please, Mr Holmes. If my wife finds out about these pictures not only will she leave me but she will take everything.”

Finally Sherlock opened his mouth to deliver his verdict. “I’m sorry, but I won’t be taking the case” and with that he turned to go back up the stairs.

“Mr Holmes” the man cried out pleadingly, “please, you must understand….”

Sherlock spun around with an infuriated sigh. “I understand perfectly. I understand that you were happy to cheat on your wife, so long as you didn’t get caught. I understand that you were stupid enough to not only make evidence of your indiscretions, but to also keep said evidence, in your own home no less, and now I understand that you are going to leave my house, and not return. Goodnight.” And with a final glare that told everyone in the room that the conversation was over, Sherlock spun around and made his way back up to their flat in that dramatic way that only Sherlock Holmes could produce.

John moved to the door, which hadn't been shut and pulled it open all the way, hoping that the movement would pull the man out of his stunned like trance enough in order for him to leave. It took a few seconds but eventually the man snapped out of his dazed and confused stupor and the arrogant twat that John had first encountered was back.

“How dare he” he spluttered, his face turning back to that rather impressive shade of red. “I don’t think he knows just who he is dealing with. He will regret the day he turned me down” the man declared. John sighed. It was too damn early to deal with this drama queen bullshit. He opened his mouth to tell the man, whoever he was, to leave, but the man continued his rant. “I will see that he never gets another client again. His name will be muck, _muck_ , I tell you, once I have finished with him.”

“Yeah, you might want to maybe work on keeping your reputation in tact, before you try bringing down one of someone who doesn’t care about it” John suggested, moving in front of the man in order to herd him towards the exit.

“And, you, you will be dragged down with him” the man sneered as John directed him out onto the step.

“That’s fine” John shrugged. “I don’t have a reputation anyway. I’m just the help” and with that he slammed the door shut on that greasy pig like face and turned to head upstairs.

Sherlock was sprawled out on the couch by the time John made it upstairs, fingers steepled in his thinking pose.

“The wife has the photos already” he murmured as John made his way into the kitchen.

A grin spread over John’s face. “How could you possibly know _that_?” he asked putting the kettle on and coming back into the living room.

“Because at ten forty-five this morning, while you were at work, I broke into his safe and retrieved them, only to hand them over to his wife, which she grossly overpaid me for using money that was also in the safe, but apparently wasn’t important enough to notice missing.”

A small chuckle left John’s mouth. “You took on a case of a cheating spouse, while on another case?” John said, unbelievingly.

“I was more interested in locating the secret safe and I was stumped with the current case.  I needed to clear the accumulated clutter” Sherlock replied, eyes closed, hands now resting on his stomach. “The kettles finished boiling.”

John shook his head at Sherlocks way of asking for a cup of tea and went into the kitchen to prepare the drinks.

"So you knew what was in the safe, yet you made him describe the contents anyway?” John mused as he set Sherlocks cup on the floor next to the couch.

“He called you _the help_ ” Sherlock frowned, still keeping his eyes closed.

John smiled into his mug, appreciating the infuriatingly, stubborn, arrogant man that was, to Johns surprise, falling back to sleep on their couch.

~o~

**-3 * Mycroft**

This wasn’t normal. This was just not right. And as much as John had thought that he might like to have seen this day eventuate, now that it was here he found himself wishing that it was all a horrible dream, because what was playing out in front of him completely went against the laws of nature.

Mycroft Holmes was begging. And not was he just begging to anyone, but to Sherlock of all people.

He had heard the familiar superior tone of Mycroft as he trudged up the stairs, laden down with the groceries that Sherlock had once again refuse to buy, but would consume in some way or another and for a myriad of many different reasons all the same.

“Mycroft” John had greeted as he moved through the living room, wanting to get the circulation back in his fingers from where the plastic handles of the shopping bags had cut into his digits the entire way home.

“Doctor Watson” came the terse reply. So Sherlock wasn’t cooperating then.

“Tea?” he called out from the kitchen. There was no response so John took that as a yes and set the kettle to boil as he put the shopping away.

As he pottered around in the kitchen snippets of their conversation filtered through, not that he was eavesdropping, but making tea only takes so much focus.

“You will be well compensated” Mycroft told him.

“No” was Sherlocks instant, toneless reply.

“It will take no longer than four hours. Five at an absolute push.”

“Still a no.” Sherlock was sounding bored, John noticed.

“I will have an agent ready to step in, should things go pear shaped or take longer than expected.” 

“You know” Sherlock drawled, and from his tone John knew that the younger man was no longer looking at his brother. “For a highly educated individual and an apparent genius, you really do have trouble grasping the concept of the word No!”

John bit back the smile as he carried the tray of tea and placed it on the coffee table between the two men.

Mycroft ignored him. “All expenses would be paid for and you would be able to bring John along as a form of relief, naturally.”

John nearly knocked over the cup of tea he was placing in front of Mycroft. Of course he would be joining Sherlock, that was a given, and _form of relief_?! What in the bloody hell was that supposed to mean? John did a hell of a lot more than supply a form of bloody _relief_.

At Sherlocks next comment he did spill the next cup of tea being placed in front of its owner, only to be saved from completely knocking over by Sherlock’s steady hand resting over his own, around the cup.

“No, Mycroft. I’m not exposing John to this. Out of the question. And the answer is still no.”

“Hang on” John interjected, standing up and looking over the both of the men currently having a stare off, neither of them sparing him a glance.

“John, trust me. I am in no way dismissing your abilities or your usefulness, but this is a non-negotiable” Sherlock explained flatly, not looking away from Mycroft. His look of total indifference had turned to a scowl of utter contempt at the suggestion of taking John along.

“Mycroft, you have stated your argument, multiple times, and the answer is still no. Why are you even still here?” His voice rose in agitation on the last sentence.

It was right about then that everything John had known about the world started to slowly unravel.

Mycroft’s face softened somewhat, into a sort of mild defeat. At first John didn’t believe what he was seeing, blaming it on a trick of the light or maybe there was something noxious in the flat causing mild hallucinations. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Sherlock” Mycroft said, and that was the second tip of the scales into surreality. Mycrofts voice had completely lost all tones of self-importance and superiority. It was softer and if John hadn’t known any better, pleading.

“I have tried to do everything in my power to stop this from happening. I have used all of my usual resources and usual tricks but I have literally exhausted all of my reserves. All attempts at negotiations have failed. It is going to happen, and I need your help.”

At that John took a few steps back and dropped onto the couch behind him. He couldn’t believe it. Mycroft sounded completely defeated. It had to be a ruse, surely?

“For god sake Mycroft” Sherlock scoffed. “It’s two people. I thought this would be well and truly above your abilities.”

“Sherlock, I am begging you. Just one evening. Dinner, polite conversation, answer their questions. I don’t even care if you lie, I just can’t do this two nights in a row.”

If John hadn’t been so taken back at the fact that the words ‘ _I am begging you_ ’ leaving the mouth of Mycroft Holmes’ mouth he may have taken more notice of the content of that speech. This wasn’t normal behaviour. Next Sherlock would be changing into something _casual_ and would start cleaning the bathroom. John was seriously starting to put more credence into the hallucinogenic theory.

A tense silence stretched between the brothers as Mycroft stared, pleadingly at his younger brother and Sherlock was staring thoughtfully back at him. John was still gobsmacked and couldn’t react even if he wanted to.

“Fine” Sherlock finally sighed, tearing his gaze away from his brother, picking up his violin from under his chair and plucking randomly at the strings. “But I get to choose the restaurant and I also want access to the Whitmore files. All of them.”

John was still speechless as he witnessed Mycroft practically melting into the back of the armchair in what could only be described as pure and utter relief. After a few seconds he straightened back up and adjusted the cuffs on his shirt, his face taking back it’s impenetrable mask of stoicism.

“Text me the destination and preferred time and I shall make the reservations. I will also inform Mummy of the plans as I know you won’t.” With that Mycroft stood up and everything that had just been said solidified in John’s puny, average, inadequate brain.

“What….wait. Mummy?” At that both Holmes brothers turned and finally looked at John, their gazes communicating confusion over John’s confusion. How could John possibly _not_ know what they had been talking about.

“You mean to say, all of this, conspiring and setting up back up agents, all of this was to organise so you” and at this John stabbed a finger in Sherlocks direction “would have dinner with your parents.” The silence accompanying the looks on the brothers faces answered John’s question louder than any words could. “And he offered you compensation” John said, still unable to believe the absurdity of the two, apparently _grown_ men in front of him. More silence.

John turned to face Mycroft. “Make the reservation for four” he ordered. John didn’t miss the small smirk that ghosted across the man’s lips as Sherlock cried out a “No, Mycroft!”

“Yes, Mycroft. Four. I think I would like to meet your parents” John replied calmly. To be honest, John had never really thought about the people who had created the two men before him. Had it not been for the off hand comment about their mother the night John had shot the cabbie John would have assumed that they had just stepped out of some high end boutique one day, fully formed, well dressed and completely arrogant.

“For four it is” an apocryphal smile directed at John as he made for the front door, Sherlock sputtering abuse behind him. “I shall have the Whitmore files sent over this afternoon. Good afternoon gentlemen” and with that he was gone.

“John, you can’t come” Sherlock demanded.

John chuckled. “Yeah, I can and I am.”

Sherlock stared at John, defiantly, for a few seconds before turning his nose up and sniffing in that pompous way he accused Mycroft of doing.  “Fine. Come along” he said, trying to sound nonchalant. It wasn’t working, which made John smile even more. “But don’t come complaining to me after you have to sit through a terrible evening of sub-standard conversation and even worse food.”

“You’re picking the restaurant” John laughed, finally getting to his cup of tea, which was only mildly warm by now. “And I’m sure your parents are just fine” he said before taking a sip of tea.

At this Sherlock huffed. “If you find people who enjoy scrabble, line-dancing and general chit chat interesting, then yes, they are perfectly fine.”

Another chuckle left John’s mouth. “I guess we will get on wonderfully then” he mused.

At this Sherlock shot John another glare and stood up, departing for his room where the bedroom door was shut with maybe just a bit more force than necessary.

~o~ 

**-2 * Anderson**

John was trying not to laugh, but it was damn near impossible. If he hadn’t learnt to get his giggling under control during his time in the army he would have completely lost it by now.

Anderson was searching furiously for his wedding ring. Practically tearing his desk apart to find it. His wife was coming to meet him for lunch, and he, according to Sherlock, tended to remove it whenever he and Sally Donovan gave int their carnal needs for each other, and he needed to find it before she arrived.

“Not that it would matter” Sherlock whispered as Anderson started pulling at his hair in pure frustration. “She is just as unobservant as he is. Completely useless, the two of them. Can you imagine if they had actually bred?” The look of horror on Sherlocks face, as he suggested such a disturbing image, was what made John’s control slip, just a bit, and a small giggle escaped.

This earned them a glare from the frantic forensic expert. John quickly morphed his face into something more stoic as he stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

“You know, you could actually help” he sneered and then went back to searching, not only his own desk, but Sally’s as well. John bit back the grin at that because, yes, they could indeed help. They knew exactly where the ring was. The idiot had put it in his pocket when he had been examining a body about an hour ago and forgot to put it on. It had then fallen out of his pocket, in Greg’s office, after he stood up from the chair. It was now sitting, unnoticed, under the edge of the desk, waiting for someone, who was not Sherlock or John, to notice it. That wasn’t the funny part though. The funny part was that was a perfectly legitimate reason for misplacing his ring. It had nothing to do with Donovan at all, which is actually what had Anderson in such a tiff.

As John and Sherlock were standing there watching the man search high and low for something that wasn’t there, something seemed to dawn on the other man. Suddenly he straightened up, his back to the two observers and held stock-still for approximately three seconds before slowly turning around, staring at Sherlock.

“You” he said, pointing to Sherlock, desperation edging his voice. “You can find it. You find everything”

Sherlock frowned. “I do no such thing” he said derisively.

“You do, to” Anderson retorted. “If it’s there to be found, you find it.”

“I see things” Sherlock snapped. “I don’t _find_ them. I’m not a bloody _sniffer dog_.”

“Well, then… _bloody see it_ ” Anderson cried, earning him concerned glances from some of the other people in the room.

Sherlock's look of insult turned to one of incredulity. “You, Phillip Anderson, are asking _me_ , Sherlock Holmes for help?” he drawled skeptically.

The desperately pleading hopeful look on the other mans face was sadly pathetic and John felt the need to go over and give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, but due to the fact that Anderson was a twat of epic proportions, he decided to stay next to Sherlock.

“I’m desperate” Anderson choked, obviously not wanting to admit the fact.

“Yes, your carrying-on’s with Donovan tells us as much” Sherlock dead-panned. John bit back the cringe at that comment as well as the smile that wanted to accompany it.

“I will do anything” Anderson practically pleaded, ignoring Sherlocks earlier barb.

“Yes, I know. My previous comment stands here also.” John had to turn his back on Anderson and bite down hard on his bottom lip. If Sherlock kept this up he was going to have to do it on his own.

“I will not touch a single thing before you get there, at the next crime scene” Anderson begged.

“The next three” Sherlock bartered.

“Two” Anderson haggled. Not too desperate, John thought.

“Three” Sherlock stated again. “And they will be cases that I choose, not just the first three you come across.”

“Fine” Anderson finally conceded. “Just find the bloody ring.”

Sherlock brought his hands up to under his chin, mimicking his standard thinking pose, but John knew that it was just that. A pose. His eyes were too alive, not focusing on something only he could see in the distance, for it to be real. Finally he looked up at Anderson.

“Unfortunately I can’t possibly tell you where your ring is, But I will tell you of a way that you can figure it out for yourself, quite simply I might add.”

“How?”

“It’s a simple technique that allows you to recall anything you have done in the past 24 hours or so.”

There is silence while Anderson waits for more and while Sherlock enjoys watching Anderson squirm uncomfortably by his desk.

“So, what is the technique?” the smaller man pleaded.

“It is simple, Anderson, even you won’t have trouble figuring it out.”

Anderson went to open his mouth to throw out some half thought out insult and then thought better of it, snapping his lips together again.

“Just recall what you have done throughout the day. Start from where you are now and work backwards, step by step, until you get to the point where you last had your ring. I suggest you go find a dark, quiet place to carry out the exercise, block out as much external stimuli as possible. The storage closet on third floor, east end of the building is perfect for such an activity. I often use it when I’m thinking.”

Without a second thought Anderson raced off towards the lifts.

John could no longer hold the giggles in. “You utter bastard” he laughed. Sherlock just grinned. “You never use that storeroom. You never use any storeroom. In fact you are quite aware that that is the storeroom that Mills and Baker use every day for a quickie at….” Johns eyes widened as he looked down at his watch. “11:35am.” Sherlocks grin grew.

“Come along John, I have a ring to retrieve and turn into Lestrade before we go home” he called as he headed off towards the DI’s office to pull Anderson’s ring from under the desk. “And I don’t particularly feel like being here when Anderson returns from seeing Mills slipping on Bakers panties.”

John quickly followed, not wanting to be there either. He had only had to hear about an overweight man slipping into a frilly pink g-string once. A second recount certainly was not needed in his life.

~o~

**-1* Mrs Hudson**

“Oh, boys, you are home,” Mrs Hudson rushed out of her flat as John and Sherlock entered through the front door. They were tired, cold and in need of a strong cup of tea after six and half hours of pointless surveillance work outside an office building in Bank Street in the Canary Wharf District.

“Mrs Hudson” John greeted, heading for the stairs, only to be stopped by Sherlocks arm on his own. John looked to Sherlock who was narrowly glancing at their landlady, as if trying to deduce what she had been doing since getting out of bed just over an hour ago.

“I’ve just put the kettle on and the scones are nearly ready to come out of the oven, if you would like something for breakfast” she grinned in that motherly way of hers. “They’re raspberry” she told them and flitted back into her flat.

Sherlock followed, quite possibly not hearing anything other than _Raspberry_ and _Scones_. It was quite literally the way to the man’s heart. Put a plate of those suckers in front of him and he will sit through an entire episode of Doctor Who and Torchwood without any complaint. He will even tolerate the more annoying clients, listening to their entire story before kicking them out and all with out declaring their deepest, most savagely protected secrets to the entire room.

John decided that he didn’t care where the tea came from, so long as it was hot and fresh so he too trailed along into apartment A.

As they were settled around the table, John inhaling the scent of unsweetened tea and Sherlock inhaling his third scone, Mrs Hudson revealed the true reason behind her offer of fresh scones and tea.

“My nieces daughter come to visit me last night, you remember her, Jane, you know, the kindergarten teacher.”

John nodded, not really remembering and Sherlock ignored her, reaching for a fourth scone.

“She really is a lovely girl, will do anything for anyone, and she is wonderful with the kids in her class.” It was about then that John realised that something was up. She was pointlessly moving the tea pot from one spot to another and then back again. He was debating on whether to interject and ask what was wrong or to let her get to the point herself when Sherlock interrupted.

“No” was all he said.

Two sets of eyes turned to him as he shoved the last half of the scone in his mouth.

“Iff’s naw haffening” he declared with a mouthful of baked flour.

John watched as he swallowed the food and then he repeated himself, using words that were actually English. “It’s not happening” he said calmly and picked up his cup of tea which had been ignored until then.

“Oh, but Sherlock” Mrs Hudson fussed. “She is a wreck, I have never seen her like this before. It really is a worry.”

Sherlock continued to sip his tea, not saying anything further on the matter.

“Doeees, someone want to fill me in?” John asked finding the two of them stare expectantly at each other somewhat unproductive.

“Mrs Hudson’s great niece suspects her husband is cheating. She wants me to find out for sure.”

“It won’t take long, I’m sure. I can give you all of her details and what I know of Rodger. It doesn’t need to be today, if you are busy, but if, when you have a spare day….” and she tapered off, still looking to Sherlock for an answer.

“Absolutely, yes we will” John answered straight away, the same time that Sherlock said “No.”

“Sherlock” John argued. “It will be a quick open and shut case, you know it will. Once this Bradford case is over you will be grumbling around the house with nothing to do. Would it kill you to do a few hours of boring work, as a favour for a friend?”

“Not happening” Sherlock said again reaching out to grab the last scone on the plate before anyone else could snatch it up.

John just glared at Sherlock as he started to devour the last scone. John knew he hated doing _please-catch-my-cheating-partner_  cases. It was dull, predictable and disgustingly boring, but John also knew that Sherlock would do anything for their house keeper. So why was he turning her down now?

The answer came after Mrs Hudson’s next words.

“Oh, I know that this sort of problem isn’t quite the puzzle that you like but she is terribly upset. I do hate to see her like this. If you could please,” she said with a sweet smile in Sherlocks direction. “Just this once?” And then when Sherlock still didn’t look convinced she said. “Just for me, please?”

It was then that John saw the change in Sherlocks face, just before he sighed and muttered “Fine, if it will keep the both of you from harping at me.” His face relaxed, just a bit and the corners of his mouth went from their bored flat state to ever so slightly tilted up. His eyes went from their bored dull sheen to an almost gleeful shine. It was all very minute and if he hadn’t known Sherlock like he did he never would have noticed, but he had spent almost a year studying this man. He liked to think that he knew most of his subtle little facial expressions and it was just then that John realised he had discovered a new one.

Sherlock liked to see people beg. He apparently got off on the bloody power trip that must surge through his body when someone finally submits everything that they have to him in order to get what they want from the only person that could give it and that look, the one that had just passed over Sherlocks face, was the one he got when that very thing happened. Looking back, John thought of all the times that someone had begged and pleaded with Sherlock. It didn’t happen a lot, but when it did, that look had been in his eyes. Mycroft, Lestrade, many clients, bloody Anderson as well as Molly. Hell, even John had broken down on one or two occasions and begged the help of his friend, but making Mrs Hudson do so, that was pushing it just a bit too far. That was Sherlock taking his little game just one step too many. He was getting above himself now and as far as John was concerned it was about time someone brought the consulting detective, the man who refused to ask for anything he could just take, down a peg or two. It was about time someone gave him a taste of his own medicine. Someone needed to Make Sherlock Holmes, Beg.

~o~

**+1 * John**

Whether it was because the case had been a long one and they were tired, therefore their defences down, or whether it was because the chase had led them to a night club which was full of half dressed, sweating, writhing bodies grinding together to what passed as music these days, or maybe it was because the knife that had been held up to John’s throat hadn’t actually done any more damage than leave a 3 inch cut that needed no more than a cleaning and a dressing that lead them to where they were now. Whatever it was it had been a long time coming, a destination that pretty muchly everyone else had seen them heading, but it took until now for the two of them to realise that this was where they were meant to be.

That destination was John, waking up in Sherlocks bed with the other man’s arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, holding him to him while they slept.

John lay still for a few more minutes listening to the steady beat of the other mans heart, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he took deep, steady breaths in his sleep and he thought back to the night before, Sherlock practically ripping off John’s shirt because it had a bit of John’s blood on the collar, a stark reminder that with just a bit more pressure, it all would have been over.

Johns shirt being removed turned into both of them completely stripping down as they stumbled to Sherlocks room, making it to the bed where they proceeded to rut up against each other until both of them came. It was quick, uncoordinated and ridiculously mind-blowing.

Now as John lay awake, his head resting on the sleeping mans chest he thought of all the times they could have been doing this, all the times he wanted to be doing this. Instead he had been too busy side-stepping the fact that they were both attracted to each other, defending his heterosexuality that had never really existed in the first place, making tea and trying to learn all he could about the man who had quite literally ran into his life, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him along for the ride.

It was that thought that brought up another memory of Sherlock into John’s thoughts. A memory of them sitting down in Mrs hudson’s kitchen, just over a week ago, her pretty much begging for the detectives help and John grinned as a wicked idea came into his head.

Quietly and carefully he disentangled himself from the human cocoon that had formed around him and softly padded into the living room, double checking that the door was locked (after all, they were pre-occupied when they got home last night and it wouldn’t do for Mrs Hudson to come in for an unannounced visit any time soon) and grabbed Sherlocks scarf off of the floor, where it had been dropped the previous evening. He then moved back into the bedroom and climbed onto the bed, straddling the waist of the man that had spread out like a large pale starfish in John’s brief absence.

A frown descended on the younger mans face, a crease forming between his eyebrows as John ran his hands up Sherlocks torso and over his shoulders.

“Morning” John whispered, close to the other mans ear. A small, disgruntled grunt was all he got in return even though he turned his face towards the sound of Johns voice, his lips seeking out the other man’s. John smiled as he ran the tip of his tongue along the crease between Sherlocks lips and then withdrawing. At this Sherlock opened his eyes, glaring at John as much as he was able through half-lidded, sleep clouded eyes.

“You woke me up, John” Sherlock murmured, his voice thick and broken from hours of disuse. “I am hoping that there is a good reason.”

“I should think so” John answered, pulling Sherlocks earlobe between his teeth and sucking on the small bit of flesh in his mouth. This pulled a small gasp from Sherlock, so John moved his lips further down.

“You are gorgeous, you know that” John whispered reverently against Sherlocks neck, as he kissed and licked at the large expanse of skin that was on offer.

“So I’ve been told” Sherlock replied, sounding a lot less sleepy.

John just grinned. “Arrogant, too.”

Sherlock didn’t reply. He just dragged his hands down John’s back and over his hips, only to be stopped by John’s hands wrapping around his wrists before they could go any further. “Patience” John murmured.

Sherlock just growled and went to move his hands again, only to have Johns grip tighten.

“I have noticed something these past few weeks.” Johns voice was deeper than normal and had a slight husky tone to it as his lips moved from Sherlocks neck to his shoulder. “I have noticed that” _kiss_ “you like to make people” _kiss_ “beg for things.” _Kiss, kiss_. “Things that” _kiss_ “You have every intentions of agreeing to, or” _kiss_ “already know the answer to” _kiss_ ”you hold out until they have begged for your assistance.” _Kiss._

Sherlock let his head push further into the pillow behind him, his back arched up to push further into Johns touch. “Is that what you want John? For me to beg?” A moan left his mouth as Johns lips attached to the skin next to his armpit and sucked. “Because I won’t.”

John smiled against the mark he knew would stand out bright red before they left their bed today. “Oh, I think you will” and with that he quickly wrapped the end of Sherlocks scarf around Sherlocks wrist in a secure knot. He noted as Sherlock looked down, confused at the blue wool around his wrist, clearly wondering where the hell it had come from.

“I woke up earlier and went out to retrieve it” John told him, reading the confusion clearly on Sherlocks face. He looped the free end of the scarf through the bars of the bed head, pulling Sherlock’s arm up so it was above his head. He then reached down for the other wrist, securing it in the same fashion as the first wrist. “You didn’t even notice I was gone.” Johns grin was predatory, he could feel it.

The look in Sherlocks eyes was one of amusement. He didn’t think John was serious.

That needed to change.

“Tell me this is okay” John asked before he moved any further.

“Do you hear me complaining?” Sherlock snarked, but that humoured look was still in his eyes.

John took that as consent to proceed and leant down and pressed his lips to Sherlocks.

“I thought you were going to try and make me beg?” Sherlock said as John pulled away.

“Not trying, doing” was Johns reply and he placed his lips back on Sherlocks in a slow, languid kiss. As he pulled off he sucked Sherlocks bottom lip into his mouth before working his way down Sherlocks jaw and back onto his neck.

“You have unrealistically high ambitions John” Sherlock said, although it came out a bit lighter than normal as John’s mouth moved across his shoulders, his tongue dipping into Sherlocks suprasternal notch along the way. “But I do commend you on your effort, as over ambitious as it is.”

John ignored Sherlocks commentary and continued his mouths assault on the body below him.

His tongue laved, his teeth nipped and his lips sucked, across and down and back up again, tasting every inch of skin he could. By the time he sucked one pebbled nipple into his mouth Sherlock was panting. A groan left his mouth as Johns teeth lightly clamped around the small nub and bit down. Sherlock pushed into the touch and a small whimper left his mouth as Johns teeth released their grip.

John continued moving down, sampling the expansive stretch of alabaster, flawless skin. He nosed at the thin trail of hair, starting underneath Sherlocks naval, the head of Sherlocks cock nudging under his chin. John could feel the sticky spot of pre-come that it had left behind, but chose to ignore it.

Instead, he moved his attention to Sherlocks hips, which pulled a groan of frustration from Sherlocks lips, but still, the detective said nothing.

Again, John worked his mouth across Sherlocks body, lapping up the small trickle of spunk that was pooling on his stomach, before making his way to the other hip. Next his mouth moved down Sherlock’s inguinal crease, moving close to his twitching prick, but still not touching. His hand mimicked his tongues movements on the other side, again, not providing touch where it was so clearly wanted.

John continued down the thigh, nipping at the sensitive skin, his hands gripping under Sherlocks knees and pushing his legs up, exposing his arse, and what a beautiful arse it was. The movement pushed a gasp out of Sherlocks mouth and John looked up at him, the first time since he had started his journey down the other mans body. What he saw almost took his breath away. Sherlocks curls were slicked to his forehead with perspiration, his pupils were blown wide and his cheeks were flushed a rather seductive shade of pink. What was most arousing, though, was that mouth. Coated with a saliva and swollen from, not only their previous kissing, but also from where Sherlock had been biting into his bottom lip.

“All you have to do is ask” John smiled, almost coyly. Sherlock just glared at him, stubborn as always, but the effect was lost in the shallow panting of his chest, and the way he gulped before letting his head fall back on the pillow.

John grinned and looked back to what he was doing, his own throat swallowing at the sight before him. Sherlocks small, puckered hole, just there before John, screaming to be licked, so that is exactly what he did. Flattening his tongue out John licked from his hole to his perineum, wrenching a loud moan from Sherlock, his hips thrusting back, searching for more purchase, so John did it again, and again, working at a relentless pace, stiffening his tongue and plunging it into that tight hole, making him loose and wet until Sherlock was a sweating, writhing mess underneath him, but still the man said nothing.

With a final kiss, John raised his head and looked up at Sherlock. He looked wrecked. His eyes were half open, his chest heaving from exertion and his mouth was parted, ever so slightly, the tip of his pink tongue just barely visible between his lips.

“Anything you want to say?” John asked, his voice not quite as steady as it was before, his jaw aching from his activities and his tone heavy from his own arousal, which was, to be honest, also aching, but he wasn’t giving in to that just yet. He was determined to make Sherlock beg, at least once, before he gave in, and John Watson was nothing if he wasn’t stubborn.

Sherlock just shot John a watered down arrogant smirk and rested his head back on the pillow again, ready for the next assault.

Since he was already in the region John decided to continue using his mouth and took one of Sherlocks testicles into his mouth and sucked. A low groan left Sherlocks mouth and his hips bucked. Johns hands pinned his hips down to stop any further thrusting. He released the ball from his mouth and pulled the next one into his mouth, giving it the same treatment. It was when Sherlock started whimpering that John released him once again and then licked a broad stripe along the underside of Sherlocks very hard cock, from root to tip, taking the head into his mouth once he reached the top.

Sherlocks moans were getting louder and closer together as John worked his mouth over Sherlocks cock, taking more and more of him in. Once he was half way down the shaft he removed one of his hands from Sherlocks hips and moved it back down to his arse, his index finger pressing at the entrance. Tentatively he pushed, not breaching, asking for permission. A frantic nod from the top of the bed was all John need and slowly he pushed his finger in, saliva from his earlier ministrations lubricating the digit, until his finger was pushed all the way in.

“Johhhhhhnnnnnn” Sherlock moaned, as Johns finger started thrusting in time with the bobbing of his head. It was the first word he had uttered since informing John that he was going to fail.

John could feel Sherlocks body tightening up beneath him, he knew that an orgasm was fast approaching. All at once John crooked his finger, seeking out the bundle of nerves he knew he would find and pulled his mouth off of Sherlocks cock. As Sherlock’s back began to arch, John removed the pressure off of Sherlocks prostate and withdrew his finger from Sherlock’s arse completely.

“John” Sherlock panted in a tone much higher pitched that John thought he was capable of.

"Hmm, Sherlock?” John answered, trying to sound innocent and almost pulling it off, but watching Sherlock almost orgasm had left him more breathless than he thought it would.

“John” Sherlock panted again, his voice closer to its normal deep baritone again.

“All you have to do is ask” John told him, starting to feel calmer again, the tip of his index finger tracing up the underside of Sherlocks cock.

“No” Sherlock spat, shaking his head as if trying to clear it. “I can see that you are just as aroused. You won’t outlast me” he panted. He was still highly aroused and was having trouble calming down.

This just made John grin and he knelt up, taking his own cock in hand and giving it one, long, slow stroke. “You forget, Sherlock” he purred as he manoeuvred himself so he was kneeling right next to Sherlocks side. He didn’t miss the way that Sherlocks eyes locked onto his cock, following it as John’s body moved. “I can do something about my arousal, you can’t” and with that he straddled Sherlocks body again, his arse resting just over his stomach and he started pumping his own cock, fist tight, hard, quick movements. “John” Sherlock cried, eyes wide, teeth biting into his bottom lip. It almost sounded like begging. “Please!” and there it was.

That single plea was enough to send John over the edge that he had been teetering on for the past twenty minutes. With a deep cry, Johns back arched, his head falling back on his shoulders as streams off come spurted out of his cock, landing on Sherlocks chest. A loud keening noise could be heard and by the time John’s head cleared of the orgasmic fog that had clouded it, he realised that it was Sherlock that was making that noise, not him, his hips trying to thrust under Joh’s weight, looking for friction against what would now, surely, be an aching erection.

John slumped forwards, his elbows resting on either side of Sherlocks shoulders, bringing his mouth down to Sherlocks. The kiss was just a slow slide of lips along lips and the tip of Johns tongue to add moisture, before it retreated back into his mouth again. Sherlocks hips continued rutting up against Johns as he sought out touch to his long neglected penis. With a wicked grin John pulled pack so their bodies were no longer touching, Sherlocks back arched, his hips trying to chase the feeling of John’s body against his.

“Do you have lube?” John asked, a finger gently running down the middle of Sherlocks torso, stopping to dip into his bellybutton.

“Top drawer” Sherlock husked out, his voice raspy from his earlier moaning and keening.

John found the lube and coated his fingers. “That was a start, Sherlock, but I think you can do better” and he pushed his lubed finger back into Sherlocks hole. “Much, _much_ better.”

Sherlock pushed down, trying to get Johns finger to brush over his prostate, but John had other plans.

“Not yet, Sherlock” John crooned soothingly. “Soon, love.” Neither man registered the term of endearment, too focused on what was being done to Sherlocks body at that moment. John continued to gently thrust his finger into the desperate body, soon adding a second one. It was as his movements sped up that he decided to tease Sherlock a bit more and the pads of fingers sought out Sherlocks prostate again, just ghosting over the small ball. Sherlock cried out, his body arching into the touch, trying to get more, but John just went back to the thrusting, his other hand coming up and wiping through the rather impressive puddle of semen that had collected on Sherlocks stomach and was dripping down the side of his abdomen. He brought his fingers up to his mouth and sucked off the salty liquid before repeating the action.

More groans left Sherlocks mouth and John wasn’t sure if it was because of what his fingers or what his mouth was doing, nor did he care as he ad no intentions of stopping either any time soon.

John was impressed at just how stubborn Sherlock truly was. They had been at the thrusting and teasing of his prostate for a good ten minutes, John pulling back and stopping completely any time he thought Sherlock was close to tipping over the edge, but not once did Sherlock utter a word. There was plenty of moans and grunts and keening, but nothing that could be construed as begging.

The sight before John was magnificent. Sherlocks long body was coated in a sheen of sweat, a pink flush covering from his chest up to his hair line. His lips were puffy from being bitten so hard and his hair was limp and matted to his skull, damp from sweat. His arms, which must surely be aching by now, John thought, were pulled above his body, his hands clenching and releasing, unable to help in his quest for pleasure, the skin pulled tight over muscles as his body arched up off of the bed when John’s fingers brushed over his prostate once again. It was that sight, and the small needy sounds coming from the man that had John hard again.

He knelt up and as Sherlock looked to him John ran his hand over his erect cock again, squeezing as he reached the head, feeling a bead of pre-come on his fingers. Slowly, he brought his finger up to his lips and licked it off. It was that, along with a firm push on Sherlocks prostate that saw Sherlock break.

“Oh, God, John, Please…in me, now, please, Johhhnnnnn.”

“Shh, Sherlock, it’s okay, I’ve got you” John soothed, deeming that as being a perfectly acceptable beg and he pulled his fingers out, seeking out the bottle of lube again.   Sherlocks head was rocking from side to side as his hips thrust up, looking for the contact that was no longer there. John was so hard and so turned on by the sight before him, that he could have come right there and then, if he hadn’t already come once in the past hour.

“John” Sherlock sobbed, his hands tugging at the scarf, trying to get free in order to touch himself.

Quickly John lubed up his cock and needing to put Sherlock out of his misery as soon as possible, he lined it up with Sherlocks entrance and pushed in. A loud cry left Sherlocks mouth as the head push past the at first ring of muscle and John froze, thinking he had hurt the detective, but then the younger mans hips started pushing down, needing to get more of John into him, so John continued to push further in, not stopping until his pelvis was nestled against Sherlocks arse.

“Move, John” Sherlock demanded, his hips thrusting up and that was all it took for John to get going, to start pushing into Sherlock at a hard and brutal pace. He didn’t mind going fast right away, it wasn’t like either of them were going to last very long anyway.

He leant his body over Sherlocks, his elbows bracketing the detective, and brought his mouth down to the younger mans as his hips snapped forwards over and over again. Sherlock pushed into the kiss, biting at Johns mouth, as he thrust in time with John, not censoring any of the sounds that were coming out of his mouth.

John brought his hand down between their bodies and wrapped it around Sherlocks cock and the reaction was instant. Sherlocks head snapped back, pushing into the pillow as his back arched up. A deep, loud cry left his mouth as his eyes rolled back in his head and, considering the amount he had already leaked, an impressive amount of semen coated his stomach and chest, some reaching his neck.

John had never seen such an arousing sight, and as Sherlocks muscles clenched around his cock he was gone on the next thrust, emptying himself, once more, into Sherlock’s tight, hot body.

John collapsed to the side and took a few deep steadying breaths before sitting up and untying Sherlocks hands. Gently, he rubbed each wrist, soothing the red skin, before placing it next to the barely-responsive man next him.

“I’ll be right back” John whispered reassuringly as he got off of the bed and made his way into the bathroom. There he cleaned himself up and, grabbing a fresh flannel, he made his way back into the bedroom. Sherlock hadn’t moved, except to close his eyes.

Gently, John climbed onto the bed and cleaned Sherlock off and then, throwing the soiled cloth behind him onto the floor, he pulled the quilt up over the both of them and snuggled back into Sherlocks chest, right where he had been when he opened his eyes that morning.

“John, you are an evil, twisted bastard” Sherlock mumbled sleepily as he brought an arm up to wrap around John’s shoulders.

“All you had to do was beg, Sherlock” John sighed, marvelling again at the fact that not only was Sherlock a cuddler, but that John got to experience being cuddled by the man.

John could hear the frown on Sherlocks face as he said “What, and miss all of that! I don’t think so, John.”

They laid together, not moving or making a sound. John had thought that Sherlock had gone back to sleep, and was almost there himself, when he spoke.

“John, you made me beg.” He didn’t sound angry or upset about it. Just, thoughtful.

“Twice” John mused, still trying to go back to sleep.

After a few more seconds of silence Sherlock said, “No one has ever made me beg before.”

John could believe that. The man was strong minded and stubborn. Not to mention not having the patience to want to deal with someone long enough to beg them for something. Usually if he couldn’t get what he wanted from one source he would find it from another. Either that or come up with an alternative solution. Begging wasn’t something that Sherlock did. At least not until now.

“Well, if you don’t want to have to do it again, I suggest you let me go back to sleep, because I’m exhausted.”

John thought Sherlock had finally given in, when the man spoke again.

“Is that a promise, John?”

“Hmmm” John hummed in agreeance.

“Because if you really want to go to sleep you may want to find another threat, as that one is just too tempting to break.”

It took a few seconds for Sherlocks words to penetrate John’s brain and actually make sense.

“Fine” John said simply. “If you don’t shut up then I’ll never ask you to beg again.”

It was in less than five minutes that both men had fallen asleep, once again wrapped around the other.


End file.
